Just One
by yeaka
Summary: Fred and George's first night at Hogwarts. (Slash, twincest.)


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Warnings: Slash, incest/twincest, uselessness.

A/N: This is a redrabbled version of the extremely old story, 'Just the One of Us.' Proceed with caution.

It's strange, being alone. Fred doesn't like it.

As soon as he thinks it's safe – as soon as the other boys are asleep – Fred throws the covers off his bed. He slips through the curtains of his new four-poster bed, listening carefully to Lee Jordan's snores across the room. He tiptoes across the floor – it's cold and it makes him shiver.

He always feels cold when he's alone; it isn't _right._ He slips through his brother's curtains without any warning – George is already facing him.

George is tucked under the covers in matching blue pajamas, and he reaches out to tug the curtains closed behind Fred. Fred slips under the blankets easily, huddling up to George for warmth. George is like a heater, and his arms wrap around Fred instantly. Fred hugs his twin back. It's as though everything is right again, and Fred breathes out contentedly.

George murmurs into his hair, "I'm glad you came over. I missed you."

"I hate separate beds," Fred answers. He can feel George nodding against him, and he squeezes tighter. Their legs tangle under the sheets, their bodies flush together. Fred doesn't want to let go, and George doesn't make him – they could fall asleep just like this, and have.

Eventually George mumbles, "These beds are too big." Fred had the exact same thought five minutes ago; that isn't uncommon for them. These beds are strange. They aren't anything like the ones at the Burrow, and the thought of not sharing a room with just the two of them, sharing a single, small bed, is still a big adjustment. George correctly interrupts the silence as an agreement and continues quietly, "What are we going to do...?"

"Dunno," Fred sighs. "I left my saw at home."

"You too?" George laughs. Fred isn't far behind.

When George disentangles himself, Fred doesn't want to let go. But he does, anyway. George shifts back a little, but he grabs Fred's hand, and they keep their fingers locked between them. Fred follows George, so that they're on the same pillow. Their knees are bumping under the covers, and George's eyes are half lidded.

Fred's sleepy. But he still hasn't had enough _just George_ time today, and he yawns, "...What do you think of the Gryffindor Head of House?"

"Looks like she has a stick up her ass," George yawns back, because every time one of them does something, the other has to mirror it. Fred grins and nods – his sentiment exactly. They'll have to see just how stern she really is. The twins never went a week at home without pulling a prank, and they don't expect that to change just based on location. After a minute, George asks, "What do you think of the greasy-looking Potions professor?"

"His hair looks particularly flammable," Fred chirps, without missing a beat. George grins, and Fred mirrors it. Percy will be pretending not to know them in a week, they're sure of it. But that's alright – he won't be good for the kind of reputation they plan to build, anyway.

Sniffing, George comes a little closer. He shoves at Fred's shoulder, signaling he wants to switch positions. Fred takes the hint and rolls onto his other side, and he can feel George sidling up to him. George's chest presses into his back, and one of George's thighs slips between his legs. George's arms wrap around him, and Fred adjusts the blankets around them, snuggling into the pillow. George is so wonderfully warm he can hardly stand it.

After another stretch of quiet, George nibbles at his ear. Fred giggles, letting his twin know he's still awake. George murmurs into it, "...So... seriously, what're we going to do about these beds...?"

Fred takes a minute to sigh, "Share," because there isn't anything else to do. He can feel George nodding again. George pecks the back of his neck – Fred's stomach is fluttering. He lowers his hand to cover George's, squeezing it tight.

George mumbles, almost too quietly to hear, "Do you think we're wrong?" Fred frowns instantly; that isn't something they talk about often.

Fred _knows_ they're wrong, but mostly doesn't care. They've never cared about rules before, and it doesn't seem fair to start now. He squeezes George's hand in what he hopes is a comforting manner, and George continues softly, "Mum thinks it's wrong."

Trying to lighten the mood, Fred mutters, "You better not sleep with or kiss Mum, then."

This has the desired affect: George laughs. Fred grins at the sound, just like he does every time. George nuzzles back into him – Fred feels right again. George says sleepily, "Good night, Fred."

Fred answers, "You complete me, George."

George says, "I love you."

And Fred says, "I love you," back.

They fall asleep in a tight embrace, warm and perfect.


End file.
